Black fine line script tattoo reading You'll be in my heart always, placed across the top of a shoulder above a black top.

Script quote on a shoulder

Lettering · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up photograph of a black script phrase reading You'll be in my heart always, set horizontally across the top of a shoulder near the collarbone. The thin, even linework is in solid black ink with little visible shading. The skin fills most of the frame, with a black top along the lower edge and a blurred window and street behind.

Lettering Fine line Shoulder Quote Script Heart

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the pair of you, and stop fiddling with those glasses. Nobody's dancing until I've finished. The Pavilion on the front at Sandbay had a floor that gave like a trampoline, and on Saturday nights in 1957 you could feel the beat in your back teeth from the cloakroom. Dorothy Crane worked that cloakroom. Her husband Ray played trumpet for Lyle Hadley's Orchestra, which was three men, a boy on drums and a piano with a sticky E. Ray was the only one who could coax the band into anything slow.

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The night I'm telling you about, the rain came sideways off the sea and nobody went home early. Ray had a telegram folded in his jacket. Dorothy saw one corner of it when he reached for his handkerchief, and she watched him fold it smaller and smaller until it was no bigger than a sixpence. He didn't say a word about it. He played 'Stardust' three times over, the last time with the lights turned down to blue, and when the saxophone man asked what the hurry was, Ray said he'd promised someone a dance that didn't have a tune to count to.

He came to the cloakroom counter at the end of the night, took the stub from his own ticket and wrote on the back in pencil. He crossed out the first two words because they sounded too grand, then slid the card across to her. You'll be in my heart always. That was all it said. Then he went out into the rain with his trumpet case, and the Pavilion's doors banged shut behind him.

Dorothy kept that stub in her purse for fifty years. It's gone soft as cloth from being unfolded so often. Ray's trumpet hangs in my hall now, and I still can't tell you where he went. Off you go, then. Mind the step on the way out. The floor's still springy.